Errol Sawyer’s mosaic city, built out of dozens of metropolitan fragments from various locales, does not resolve as a bleak or grim vision of the human condition. It feels alive, reasonably congenial, never malevolent, even inviting — evoking not only the loneliness that can lurk within urban existence but also that sense of solitude, welcome for some, paradoxically enhanced by the proximity of millions of other souls. […]
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Since being impressive to a non-knowledgeable audience is a natural consequence of her choice of style, tone, stance, and pace, one can presume that to be Sontag’s intent. Similarly, since to anyone with a background in photography Sontag’s grasp of the medium’s morphology is (to be charitable) shaky, and her ideas almost entirely received, one can equally presume that — except as an aggressive act — the book is not meant to be taken seriously by an audience versed in photography, visual art, or visual communication. […] In reading those of my colleagues who tend to wax philosophic, I consider it always useful to keep in mind that Aristotle’s reasoning led him to conclude that adult women had fewer teeth than adult men, and that his hermeneutics never required him to test this hypothesis by looking into a human female’s mouth and counting. […] |
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